


A Long Way From the Playground

by nightwideopen



Series: Single Dad Louis [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Doctor Harry, Fluff, Lawyer Louis, M/M, No Smut, Single Parent Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a single dad who is having a lonely life crisis and Harry is a doctor that carries around princess band-aids in his pocket.</p><p>Scraped knees make grown men bond, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Way From the Playground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crisscolfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisscolfer/gifts).



> I was told to simply write a Single Dad Louis AU and it spiraled into bullshit fluff but what else is new.
> 
> Anyway, forgive any and all inaccuracies, mistakes, typos, and the bullshit in general. I'm warning you now that the ending sucks because none of this actually makes sense therefore the way I wrap it up makes even less sense.
> 
> THIS TOOK ME A FUCKING HOUR TO GET TO POST YOU BETTER APPRECIATE IT

“Julia! Come back here! I— _Jesus._ ”  They’ve only just arrived at the park and Louis' daughter has already ducked out of sight. “Leo, can you please go find your sister? Shout when you’ve found her, yeah?” He releases his son’s hand and keeps a careful eye on him as he dashes to find his twin sister in the complex playground. He’s barely sat down when Leo’s voice comes from somewhere in this goddamn maze. 

“Found her, daddy! She’s in the tunnel again!” It’s followed by an aggressive “Shh!”

Louis breathes a sigh of relief. His daughter is a terror, right after his own heart, unfortunately. “I’m gonna go sit down! Don’t let her out of your sight!” He honest to God is so blessed that Leo takes after Eleanor. 

Which— shit. He was meant to send her a cheque today for… _something_. Oops. He should get that tattooed on his arm, honestly. It would like quite nice with a squiggly line under it, he thinks, also perhaps in— Louis gets too easily distracted.

A side-effect of Louis' horrible tendency to daydream is him not noticing when his children are scampering off to God-knows-where. He shoots off of the bench and speed-walks (he learned a while ago not to run because it makes them split up and hide) after them.

“Where’re you off to _now_?” he whines. Quite the adult, he is.

“Ice cream!” they shout in unison. Louis can’t deny that he perks up a bit at that.

It’s going to be a long day, he can see it now.

-

“God, thanks so much Z **,** you’ve no idea how much I need this.” He’s handing his best mate two overnight bags, resisting the urge to kiss him right on his stupid face for taking the twins for the night and a day.

“Told you, I gotta earn my World’s Best Uncle title somehow. Niall almost had me beat last Christmas, Jesus.” The twins are running in circles around him, a common occurrence. He doesn’t react. “The man’s a menace.”

“He didn’t have to try very hard, though, did he? These two don’t need much to be entertained.”

“Says the one that’s getting rid of them.”

“Shut up,” Louis snaps, leaning on the doorframe, “S’just a lot sometimes, you know? On my own. Cooking and cleaning for _myself_ was torture, dunno how I’m surviving, to be honest."

Zayn rolls his eyes and deflects a hand flailing towards his crotch. “Yeah, I know. Did your laundry for seven years, mate. It’s a miracle you haven’t spontaneously combusted yet.”

Louis can’t help the short laugh that tumbles out. “Mum keeps saying Jules is the spitting image of me at every age," he muses, completely off track, "Five broken bones already. Beat my record of three by six already. Pity.”

“How is that even— never mind. Anyway, I’m always here to help if you need anything, you know that.”

“I do.” He runs a hand through his hair, momentarily forgetting how short he’d cut it a few days ago. He feels something sticky on his hand and when he pulls his hand back to investigate, he finds is smudged with peanut butter. “Jesus Christ, _what_ did we say about the food in my hair? Alright, c’mere, one last hug before you two go. Bring it in.”

He squats to their height and they’ve each got a head on a shoulder. When they’ve deemed the hug long enough, they pull back and dash out the door towards where Zayn’s car is parked haphazardly in the driveway, Louis shouting, “Be good!” after them.

“See you tomorrow,” Zayn calls over his shoulder.

“Good luck!” is all Louis can manage before he’s closing the door and dumping himself on the couch.

He sort of wishes he wasn’t so goddamn lonely without his kids.

-

“Mate, when was the last time you really got wasted?” Niall asks through a mouthful of— Louis doesn’t even know what that is.

“Uni,” he mumbles solemnly, sipping his juice box. Depressingly, it’s the only thing he’s got in his fridge at this point in the week.

“That’s it,” Niall hops off his on the kitchen island and snatches the juice box from where Louis is making obnoxious slurping sounds with the last of it. “We’re going out. Right now. Gonna get you proper shit-faced. To the point where you do that _thing_. You’ve gotta do something other than chase kids, and work, and drink— what is this? _Apple juice?”_  

“Would you like me to list the top ten benefits of apple _again?_ ”

“No.”

“Well, there’s hair and skin thing. Eye health. Lowers cholesterol, prevents _cancer_ and—”

“Louis, mate, I wish I cared. But I don’t, so go get dressed.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I have peanut butter in my hair.”

Niall just gives a shit-eating grin. “Then you should probably go shower.”

“No,” Louis stays adamant. “You’re not getting me dancing on the bar like you did last time. Took weeks to get all those videos erased. Looked like a proper stripper.”

“That was the best night of my life,” Niall huffs indignantly. “Besides, you _need_ this. You’re thirty,” Louis makes a broken noise, “You’re single, and you need a break, Lou. Give yourself one. When are you gonna get another proper weekend off?”

“Christmas,” he grumbles. Even that’s a chore, though, spending three whole days wrapping and unwrapping gifts, cleaning up and making sure everything works and nothing breaks. Louis hasn’t had a break since he fought for (and won) full custody of the twins.

“That’s it. It’s settled. Let’s go.”

Louis doesn’t have it in him to argue any further.

-

Maybe, _maybe_ , Louis had a good time. He won’t admit it though. He’d dragged his feet the whole way to the pub, made a show of sipping his first beer for a full hour until Niall bet him thirty quid that he couldn’t chug three pints in under a minute. So, Louis won the money, bought three shots of vodka with it, bought three more, and was then trying to climb onto the bar.

Niall wouldn’t let him, but he did however, let Louis dance all over everyone else. Louis was the center of attention— hazy minded and faintly reminiscent of the three night a week he’d been able to do this and still manage to drag himself to classes the days following. He used to be the life of every party, invincible, a walking cliché. Now he’s a thirty year old divorcé with two kids and still living up to his cliché of a life.

Now, though, he’s laying on his couch, alternating between laughing at Niall’s face and licking it. Eventually he ends up crying about how pathetic his life is and wondering when Niall’s nose got so big. When did his nose get so big?

“When did your nose get so big?”

“When I told you that this would be a good idea.” Louis doesn’t get that reference. “I lied. This was a terrible idea. Should’ve made Zayn take you out. Christ, you’re worse than your children— Louis, Louis. No, will you— Stop it!”

Louis is trying to taste Niall’s hair. “It _looks_ like vanilla, what if it tastes like it too? _You’ll never know!_ ” Louis pouts for ten minutes after that.

Niall stays the night with him, but shaves half of his beard after he’s fallen asleep in retaliation. Needless to say, Louis wakes up with his head pounding, disoriented, and thinking that maybe he'd rather be dead.

Niall’s left him a note saying _Hope you like my gift in return for you singing “I will survive” for two hours straight, twat. xx_ He doesn’t remember that, he doesn’t remember anything, really.

“It’s a classic,” he grumbles, as he trudges to the bathroom, desperately wishing he had someone to go out and buy something for his headache of epic proportions.

Sad, lonely life.

-

Zayn drops off the twins that evening fed (thankfully), and all worn out. All Louis has to do is snuggle up with them in front of the telly and try to ignore the fact that he feels like something’s missing.

It’s odd, really, and he feels bad, that this simple life with the two people he’ll do anything for, has given his life to, doesn’t seem to be enough. There shouldn’t be this gaping hole in his chest coinciding with the empty space on the couch beside Leo.

“Hey, loves, s’time for bed.” Their eyes are drooping shut of their own accord, but they protest anyway, trying to keep them open and trained on the too-bright glow of the television. “C’mon, you’ve got school tomorrow, s’late.”

“Nooo, daddy, please? Just five more minutes?” Julia can hardly stay awake through her plea, head lolling about and words slurring as she tries to negotiate.

Louis gives a fond smile at the sight before him, gently rubbing each twin’s arm. “I’ll carry you both, alright? Up you get.”

And they can’t pass that up, so they sleepily clamber into Louis' open arms, a shoulder for each head. Louis can’t help but notice the fact that he won’t be able to do this much longer, not his own. They’re both getting so big, and it’s not as if he has much time to hit the gym these days.

He drops each child in their respective beds, giving one and then the other a sloppy loud kiss on the forehead before whispering, “sleep tight, little monsters,” and leaving the room.

Louis collapses into his own bed that’s much to big for just one person. He runs a hand over the neat, unwrinkled sheets on the right side of the bed. He doesn’t know where this feeling of emptiness is coming from, and he hates it. For the first time in three years, he’s not happy with his life. And it’s daunting. He doesn’t want to be like that.

He’s having a crisis.

He calls Zayn.

“Hello?”

“I’m having a crisis.”

There’s a pause, and Louis can almost picture the eye roll. “What kind of crisis?”

“Do you think I’m lonely?”

“What?” Zayn sort of sounds affronted. “In what sense? I mean, you’ve got the twins, and me, and Ni and—”

“I mean in the sense that I’ve not been with anyone since El. That’s five years. Five years of no company, no sex. Did you know that—”

“No, and something tells me I don’t want to.” He sighs, and Louis almost feels bad for calling him but— “Listen, you might not’ve realized it, but you’ve been really wrapped up in the last five years. Y’know, with the divorce and the custody battle and getting trying to get to the top at work. The kids have just started school, and all that’s settled down, so maybe you’re getting a breather means that you’re noticing that you want something that you used to have.” 

“I mean— yeah. You’re right. And even that, someone’s not just gonna fall into my lap and—”

Zayn snorts. “Wouldn’t you like _that_.”

"Arsehole. But really, I'm not gonna be all desperate going on blind dates and shit but I can't just _wait—“_

"Louis, shut up. You sound desperate enough already. You're worrying too much. Just be patient, keep an eye out, let people set you up, and I'll have Dickhead Number Uno watch the twins next weekend, and we'll go out. Good? Good. Now go to sleep."

"Fuck you," Louis says with a fond smile. "G'night."

-

That entire week is hell for Louis. He's dumped with two impossible cases, has to spend three nights holed up in his room, nose in his books like he's a fucking First Year at Uni. The kids come home everyday bouncing off the walls, half-convincing him that the school gives them cocaine instead of nap-time. He can't cook for shit, and Niall and Zayn are both too busy to do it for him, so it's toaster waffles, TV dinners, and cereal until Friday finally comes around and he's yanking off his tie for the last time for the next three days.

The house is eerily quiet, the fridge humming, an occasional creak, and he _hates_ it. He sits staring at the off telly for forty-five minutes until the twins are bounding through the door. They kick off their shoes and backpacks and promptly pounce on Louis.

"Hi, loves," he greets with a tired smile. He noticed a streak of pink in his daughter's hair. "What have you got in your hair? Is that paint or somethin'?"

Julia nods vigorously, her blue eyes shining with excitement to tell the story. 

"Well go on then, tell me what happened."

She launches into the tale of how she wanted to paint a land of lollipops but her partner simply wouldn’t have anything pink. Apparently, he said there is nothing good about pink, and so Julia made it her mission to show that the color pink is worthy of being in anything and everything, because that’s how good it is.

“So you painted your _hair?_ ”

She squints her eyes accusingly. “It was that or I dumped the paint all over _his_ hair.”

Louis can’t stop his laugh, because he knows she would’ve done it; he’s watched her do it before. To him. “Well then, I’m proud of your decision, darling.”

He sends Zayn a quick text that the twins are home and makes them all grilled cheeses (because it’s their favorite and _not_ because it’s the only thing he manages to not set aflame besides cereal).

When Niall arrives, unsurprisingly cheery, the twins tackle him nearly back out the door.

“Hello princess,” they’re latched onto his legs as he walks inside, “And my little lion man. You two ready for a fun-filled night?” 

“The most funnest!” Julia proclaims, looking up at Louis with a glint in her eye.

“Jules, be nice, now. Uncle Niall can’t take many more pranks in his old age.”

“You’re older than me!”

“Semantics.”

“It’s okay, daddy,” Leo promises, “We’ll be fine.”

“Thank you sweetheart, for the reassurance. Just keep Uncle Ni in check, yeah? And don’t let Julia into the kitchen alone. You know the rules.”

The three of them nod at Louis innocently, who prays that the damage will be minimal as he grabs his keys.

He’s barely halfway down the driveway when he hears a loud crash and a squeal— probably Niall.

-

Zayn’s plan for the night was explicit— five hours at the local pub, they’d be back at Zayn’s flat by two and they wouldn’t get too smashed.

It’s eleven, though, and Louis is five drinks in. He’s well on his way to taking his shirt off and using it to zip-line across the pipes above his head.

Zayn doesn’t seem nearly as drunk as him, only sipping something with lots of ice and an umbrella.

Louis wants another drink.

“Louis wants another drink.”

“I’ve known you my whole life and I still don’t understand why a couple of fruity cocktails makes you talk in third person.” Zayn lifts Louis' empty cup to the barmaid, who looks wary as she glances between Louis' glass and Louis attempting to give himself a mustache with his own short hair. “Stop that.”

“Make me.”

Zayn pinches Louis' nose closed, cackling as Louis tumbles off the stool trying to squirm away.

“Dick,” he grumbles he tries to swat Zayn with his too-long shirtsleeves. “Why’d you even bring me here.” He sits back down, arms crossed and pouting.

“I wanted to talk to you, maybe someone would catch your eye? But you’re a little drunk now, mate, I wouldn’t—”

“I just want someone to love me,” Louis whines, dragging the last two words out for ages. “Why am I so alone?”

There’s a little smile on Zayn’s lips that he’s trying much too hard to keep in check. “What kind of someone?”

Louis pouts harder. “Someone pretty,” he swirls around and leans back so his head is on Zayn’s lap, “Like you. But you’re too pretty. No one as pretty as you. You ruined my standards.” Louis' nose and eyes scrunch up as he falls into a fit of giggles. After about thirty seconds, Louis' face drops into a dead serious stare. “I want a smoke."

Zayn snorts again. “Not now. Just keep talking, go on.”

Louis keeps explaining as if he’d never stopped. “I want someone with a nice smile and,” he gasps dramatically and shoves his finger into Zayn’s cheek, “Dimples! He’s gotta have dimples. I love dimples.”

“He?”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean ‘he?’”

“I didn’t know that you, I—”

“S’why me and El broke up, innit?” He’s too drunk to remember why Zayn doesn’t know this. “I just didn’t, like, want that anymore. It felt wrong."

“Oh.” Zayn takes a thoughtful pause, accepting the new information in a way that Louis' mind is too addled to appreciate. “Have you ever even seen dimples?”

“Suck my dick.”

“I reckon people think you’re about to suck mine with the way you’re all over me.”

Louis sits up rapidly and shouts, “I’m single!”

Zayn decides to call it a night, silently praying that Louis' dimpled soulmate hopes to make an appearance very soon.

For everyone’s sake.

-

“You want me to _what?_ ” 

Louis's only just arrived at the firm, two minutes late, glasses askew. It’s been a wild morning from the start, and this may just be the icing on the shitty cake of today. His question rings in the empty office, the silence being broken by him heaving his briefcase onto his cluttered desk.

April rolls her eyes. “Double homicide case that went cold from last year, they reopened it. He didn’t do it, and they want you to prove it.” She flicks her fringe of ginger hair out of her eyes.

Louis remembers the case well. “But he did do it!”

“No he didn’t.”

“What the _fuck_ , April? This is an impossible case. I’m not doing it, I’m not ruining my reputation. Give it to someone else.”

“Louis,” she sighs, smoothing over a crease in her pencil skirt. (She’s particular like that. And taller than him. It's daunting.) They’ve been over this time and time again with dozens of cases. “We’ve been through this, love. No case is impossible as—”

“As long as it’s in the realm of possibility. I know. It’s on my fucking door, and it still doesn’t make any sense.” He runs a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit. It’s still as short as it was last week. Tragic. “But I’m not taking the case. I’m not a big fan of the whole ‘you win some you lose some’ thing because the more I lose the less chance I have of getting somewhere better in the long run. You know that.”

“I get it, Louis, I really do. But you know what you have to do— Look,” she puts a hand on his shoulder, and he guesses it’s supposed to be comforting? “As your _friend_ ,” Louis snorts, “Just take the case. He’s paying triple what _they_ would for an innocent man, and you’re a fantastic lawyer. You can win it. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Louis huffs an unconvinced sigh, dropping back into his large office chair. “Fine,” he pinches the bridge of his nose (proper drama queen, he is), “I’ll do it. Just— tell me where to start.”

April smiles. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

-

It’s Saturday afternoon, and Louis's back at the park with the twins. Only this time, he’s on a park bench hunched over books and papers, scribbling and highlighting laws and amendments and subparagraphs and possible loopholes. He’s in over his head with this case, and should’ve never been convinced he could _ever_ win it.

He’s so wrapped up in his reading that he’s no less than startled when Leo comes running over to him in a panic.

“Daddy! Julia fell and she’s crying! She’s over— look!” 

There’s a tall man in a peacoat crouching down in front of his daughter and Louis swears he sees red for a moment. He rushes over to Julia, Leo close behind, ready start throwing punches, but stops in his tracks when he sees the man reach into his pocket. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but his heart actually stops— he _swears_ it. The man, though, the man has a smile on his face, and Julia doesn’t look nearly as scared as she could be (she’s a brave one, but not _that_ brave), and he pulls out a… a _plaster?_ Louis might be a little blind considering he’d yanked off his glasses in his haste, but there’s no mistaking the strip of pink that the man is spreading over Julia’s knee, as he’s done countless times himself. 

Louis regains some peace of mind before stomping over to where this stranger is helping his daughter off the ground.

“Excuse me,” he spits, “But what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

The man rises to his full height and— _oh_ —he’s a full head taller than Louis, broad shoulders and biceps _just_ stretching his coat sleeves, could easily pummel three people to the ground at once. But his face flushes a light pink, contrasting his first impression with the wave of genuine sheepishness that washes over him.

“I— she fell. Just wanted to make sure was alright.”

“Like hell you did, c’mere Jules.” He crouches down to her height, brushing her fringe back and wiping her tear-stained cheeks. “You okay? He say anything to you?”

She shakes her head as Louis glares at the man, who’s shifting nervously between his pigeon-toed feet. “He was nice, daddy, asked me if I needed a plaster. He had one in his pocket! Can you believe it? Princesses too!” Louis smiles at his daughter, breathing a sigh of relief that she remains unscathed (aside from her self-induced knee scrape). “He doesn’t even _look_ scary, daddy.”

Louis's not about to trust his five year old daughter to judge the safety of a man based on his looks. So he does the responsible thing, and takes a look for himself.

Save for the vibe of extreme innocence that’s practically vibrating off of this gentle giant, the man’s got a natural coquettishness about him; wide Bambi eyes, inverted feet and soft features. Sure there’s something suspicious about the way his coat reaches his mid-thigh, but maybe Louis just feels threatened by the situation, because there’s no doubt in his mind that this man is _pretty_ — has a face that says he’s wary to hurt a fly.

“Look, I— I just wanted to make sure that she was alright. I’d _never_ hurt a child, Ever, that’s like— I’m a pediatrician, I love kids. I should’ve, like, called out or something. I was worried, she was bawling her eyes out and I—”

“It’s _okay,_ ” Louis doesn’t even want to know how long that could’ve gone on for, “Just got scared, is all. You two carry on playing, go on.” They scamper off to their hiding place again, probably not to be seen until they’re hungry. “Christ,” he laughs nervously, checking on his open briefcase and thankful for the lack of wind, “Was probably about to choke you or somethin’. Do you mind— I’ve got my stuff over there but was just wondering where you work?”

“Yeah, no, of course.” He follows Louis over to the bench. “I, uh, I work over at the Great Ormond? But you— law? You working on a case?" And he's genuinely curious. 

"Um, yeah. It's a tough one. But like, I'm down at that place all the time, I've never seen you." He's collecting his papers, sure that he'd remember someone with a face like that. The reorganization he's going to have later will probably kill him. "My kids get hurt a lot, as you might've picked up on."

"Yeah? Well, I follow local court cases and I've never heard of you, I don't think..." The smirk on his pretty pink lips is what gives him away, and Louis thinks that yeah, maybe psychopaths can be pretty. 

"How do I know I'm not giving my name to a potential stalker?" he inquires cheekily. 

The man let's out a small snort of a laugh, and it's endearing. "I reckon you don't." He shrugs. "I'm Harry, by the way, Harry Styles."

Louis sticks his hand out. "Louis Tomlinson."

"Pleasure."

Just as their abnormally long handshake reaches its natural end, the twins come barreling towards them, rambling at the same time about lunch and doughnuts and the new sweet shop down the street. 

"Alright, alright. Calm down. One minute." He turns to Harry, snapping his briefcase closed and it's all very professional of him. His mother would be proud. "Well, I better be off before these two bite my hands off. It was nice meeting you, Doctor."

Harry gives a grin that surprises Louis, because it's so genuine, actually reaches his eyes. "You as well, Lawyer."

Louis gives a cheeky salute as he lets Julia clamber onto his back from her perch on the bench. He walks away with his son's hand in of his own and his briefcase in the other, and thinking maybe this was fate.

_Dimples,_  Louis thinks, _He had dimples._

-

It can't be a coincidence that Julia falls ill less than a week after The Encounter, as Niall has taken to calling it. Louis won't admit it, much to his friend's dismay, but he's spent a good chunk of the last six days desperately trying to eject the image of Curly's face from his mind. It's distracting, is what it is, what with the arraignment coming closer; he's trying to prepare himself _and_ his client who turned out to be the dick Louis had expected him to be. On top of that, he's got a kid coughing her lungs out right next to him three out of five nights.

Julia spikes a 103.9 fever on the seventh night, and Louis has no choice but to take her to the hospital. It's three in the morning, he's panicking, and Zayn doesn't drive fast enough.

He swings the door open before the bell has even finished ringing, Julia whimpering and shivering in his arms. "Did you stop at _every_ red light, for _fuck's_ sake.”

Zayn hands him a cup of tea, bless him, and the keys to his truck. “I almost died, like, three times, if that makes you feel any better. Take my car, s’already warm. Go.”

He goes, still in his plaid pajama pants, moose slippers and glasses, hair and shirt equally rumpled from sleep. He’s worried, of course he is, because neither of the twins have needed a hospital visit for anything other than broken bones since the early days. Those days were the worst of his life, all those complications and things he didn’t understand, he’s surprised he didn’t go spontaneously grey right then and there.

“You alright back there, Jules?” He takes a gulp of his tea nervously as they pull into the hospital parking lot. 

She makes a weak noise, shivering under her blanket and onesie. She’s in a right state, and it breaks Louis' heart in two.

“Yeah, we’re here though, unbuckle yourself I’ll be right there. S’gonna be alright, I promise.”

He pulls Julia out of the back seat, holds her close to his chest and rushes through the automatic sliding doors. The bright white light of the interior makes Julia burrow her head further into his neck, and he hushes her, eyes frantically searching for a doctor; anything to avoid the front desk. He doesn't really think he can sit through a wait if they give him one.

Louis is just about to give up and succumb to the intimidating receptionist when he spots a white coat topped with curly hair. He makes a mad dash, silently praying it’s who he thinks it is.

“Doctor? Doctor!”

The man in the coat whips around, thankfully, green eyes wide and pink lips parted, seeking out the voice calling for him. He breaks into a smile when he sees who’d been calling.

“Louis! It’s Louis right? Hi, I— what’s wrong?” A crease appears on his forehead as he registers the state of Louis and the blatant apprehension on his face. He probably looks ridiculous, with his slippers and all, but at least he’s got a doctor’s attention.

“She’s— fuck,” he nearly trips in his haste, “She’s got a really high fever, I panicked and I—”

“Yeah, Jesus, calm down. It’s gonna be fine, come with me.” He leads them towards the elevators, the shouts to the receptionist. “Kel! Five year old female, high fever, tell Liam I’ve got it!”

That makes Louis skeptical, but not enough that he doesn’t step into the elevator. “Um, are you not supposed to...”

“What? No, I’m fully qualified. More than, actually, just. Dr. Payneusually takes the fevers and viruses and illnesses in general. I’m more on severe cases like— I’d rather not say; you don’t look like you don’t need that right now.” And he’s _smiling_.

They reach the pediatric floor, faint sounds of crying babies, toys littering the hallways welcoming them. It’s not threatening like any of the other wings, instead it’s bright and colorful, a comforting air about it. Louis suppose that _is_ the point, but it’s a something he’d never gotten to appreciate in those weeks five years ago.

Harry leads them into an examination room, pulling back a baby blue curtain and patting the paper covered table.

“Set her down here. You need the lights out, love?” Julia nods, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. He shuts them and removes the stethoscope from around his neck, and putting the earpieces in his ears, looking like a proper doctor. Louis _almost_ laughs at him. Almost.

“You still with me, sweetheart? What’s your name, can you tell me?” She does, her response weak and raspy, but there. “That’s such a pretty name. Deep breaths for me, yeah? Just through your nose. S’gonna be a little cold.” He reaches under the blanket gently and presses the chest-piece to her back. “Are you feeling dizzy?” Julia shakes her head. “Anything else hurt?”

She nods at that, though. “Tummy.”

Harry nods again as well, and Louis feels like he’s in a room full of bobble-heads. He turns to Louis. “Has she eaten anything relatively new lately? At a new place?”

Louis flounders. “I— no. I don’t think so. She hasn’t vomited, do you think—”

“Relax, she’s gonna be fine.” He goes along checking the rest of her vitals. “I just need you to tell me if she’s eating anything unusual, come in contact with other sick children—”

“I, um. I left her with my mate two weeks ago, but there’s no way that can do anything _now_ , can it? Like, as for the kids. Jules? Any of you schoolmates ill lately?”

Harry pulls a pager out of his pocket, presses some buttons, and replaces it.

“I don’t—” a cough racks her whole body, “I dunno. I think maybe Sam was ill. He didn’t come to school for a lot of days. Then he came back. We were coloring buddies.”

“Did you—” Just then a brunette doctor appears, kind features twisted into a questioning look. “Ah, Dr. Payne. I need your second opinion. High fever, headache, stomach ache, no signs of vertigo. _Minor_ , minor fluid in the lungs. Could just be phlegm. Says she had a sick schoolmate, didn’t eat anything unusual lately. She’s got shivers, and probably going to fall asleep very soon from exhaustion.”

Dr. Payne looks thoughtful for half of a second before giving his advice. “I say we get her started on antibiotics right away and that if she’d been brought in any later it could’ve taken a turn for the worst.”

Harry pats his fellow doctor on the back. “Thank you, doctor. That’s just what I was thinking. Would you mind fetching those antibiotics for me?”

“Why else would you have asked me here?”

-

Louis unsurprisingly sleeps by Julia’s bedside, eventually crawling in with her because the chair is hell on his back. The nurses only allow it because she’s been deemed not contagious and because their futile attempts to wake Louis do nothing but disturb Julia’s already uncomfortable slumber.

He wakes up with hair in his mouth, like he’s done on countless occasions, and when he opens his eyes he sees Dr. Curly looking at him with a mix of fond and amusement on his face. Then he nearly jumps out of his skin with fear.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” he complains, “Can I _help_ you?”

“I’ve got to do one last check up for Julia. Might need to check on you, too,” Harry adds, “What with the way you sleep. S’like trying to wake a brick.”

“Do I even want to know how long you’ve been stood there watching me and my daughter sleep?” Louis peeks an eye open once more, watching as Harry writes things on a clipboard. Filthy liar, he is, didn’t even need to wake Louis.

Harry shrugs. “Probably not, considering when we first met you were convinced I was about to abduct said daughter.”

Louis rolls his eyes, turning over and squinting against the light pouring through the curtains that he never closed. “However could I make such a wrong assumption?” Harry leaves a refilled bottle of antibiotics on the tray next to the bed. “Thank you, by the way.”

Harry frowns. “What for?”

Louis frowns back. “Taking Julia right away. Dunno what I would’ve done if we’d had to wait, she was—”

“Hey, s’no problem. Just doing my job, Mr. Tomlinson. Besides—”

“Louis.”

“What?”

“You can call me Louis, Dr. Styles.”

Harry beams at him. “In that case, you can call me Harry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “So, um, remember when I said I follow local court cases?”

Louis nods. “Yeah. S’how you got my name.”

“Yeah, I did. Well, it turns out I actually have heard of you. You’re an incredible lawyer, y’know? Haven’t lost a case yet.”

“I would scoff and deny it, but I can’t argue with the facts, as modest as I am. I get paid enough to know that I’m not half bad. Except I’ve got this case right now that’s killing me.”

Harry looks like he’s bursting to ask a question. “Yeah? What is it?” That’s not it, though.

“S’a double homicide that we all know the bloke committed. He’s a right arsehole about it too. And I’m supposed to prove that he didn’t do it!” He pulls a face of faux excitement, and adds a little fist pump. “Yay!” Harry flushes pink, opening and closing his mouth, then deciding against saying anything. “Oh, just ask me!”

“Do you—” he clears his throat, “Can I help? I’d gone to law school for a bit and I always love a challenge.”

Louis is flummoxed for a moment, sits up. “I— shit, yes, actually. I could honestly use any help I can get. This might sound a little desperate but I’m like, drowning.”

And Louis swears he’s never seen someone’s face light up over something so ridiculously mundane. “Really?” He nods. “Christ, I— I was always such shit, ah _sorry_ , at the basic stuff so they never let me past first year. I’d’ve given anything to work on a real case.”

Harry hangs Julia’s chart at the foot of the bed, then sits down in the chair beside them. He looks a little overwhelmed, even with his smile bright as the sun.

“You sure about this?” Louis is skeptical, rightfully so. They’ve only just met, and honestly how much could a doctor possibly want to have anything to do with law? “I mean, I’ve been working on this case day and night for days and arraignment is coming up in two weeks—”

“Hey, look. I obviously can’t be _too_ big a help, but. Can I look it over? I can be like a reference for you. I’ve got a killer memory, still remember all those stupid amendments and ‘subparagraph C’ bullshit— _sorry_ —And my prof always said loopholes were my strong suit. Also—”

Louis puts a hand up to stop him. “Loopholes? You— how strong?”

Harry smirks. “Was best in my class.”

Louis pretends to mull it over, silently praising the Gods of Law for giving him this perfect person who has apparently been sent to save is arse in multiple ways.

“Well,” he says, “All I can say is that you best have your phone near you… a lot.” Louis laughs softly at the sheets at the ridiculousness of it all. “I— this is so strange. Just, here’s me phone. Just put in your number. I’ll assume you have mine?”

He doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or if Harry actually blushes at the wink Louis shoots his way.

“Yeah, I’m. Text me. Anytime. I only work the day shift usually, so at night I’m all yours... I mean—” He blushes even deeper, much to Louis' delight. “It wasn’t an innuendo.”

“S’alright if it was. I’m a sucker for innuendos—which. Oops.” Definitely should get it tattooed on his arm. He holds eye contact with Harry’s bright green eyes, grinning wider as Harry is forced to duck his head. He’s precious.

He looks over at Julia, notices her stirring, and she opens her eyes.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, love, I’m here. How you feeling? Sleep good?”

She nods, rubbing her tired eyes, exactly the way Louis remembers his mum taking a photo of when he was the same age. She took photos at the strangest times. “Can we go home now?”

Louis turns back to Harry, who’s stood up, hoping he’ll say yes.

“S’long as you’re sure you’re feeling better. Everything’s okay for me to give the clear.”Julia breaks out into a grin. “I’m _fine_! Can we get ice cream on the way home?” She looks just about ready to leap out of the bed and into the car.

“Anything, sweetheart. Go on and get dressed, then we’ll go."

Harry clears his throat awkwardly. “I’ll be waiting downstairs to check you out?” He closes his eyes, seeming to be cursing himself for his diction. “I’ll—yeah.” He slowly backs out of the room, smiling softly.

Louis nods after him, unable to keep the smug grin off his face. “Yeah,” he breathes, and somehow finds his own cheeks heating up. “We’ll be right there.” 

“Don’t get lost!” Harry calls over his shoulder on his way out the door.

“I won’t!” Louis calls back.

He does, though, and has to text Harry to come find him.

-

Louis and Harry ending texting an inordinate amount for the short time that they’ve known each other. It’s like have a first date everyday, learning the quirks and habits of the other, the little things that make them tick. It’s strange, because they rarely meet up face to face unless it’s for a panic study session and Louis needs physical shutting up because he tends to babble when he panics.

It’s a slow and steady realization, day by day, that Louis begins to figure out that he has more than a major crush on Harry. It’s not like it was the day the met, or the first few texts and coffee shop lunches. It’s more, it’s deeper, and quite frankly, Louis welcomes it. He’s basking in the newfound company that he gets from this other person; this wonderful, amazing, curly haired dork that’s practically saving his life with this limited knowledge of law.

Harry doesn’t know very much of anything, getting easily confused by Louis' use of big words and fancy “Law Lingo,” but when it comes time for him to do his part and see things Louis brushes by, it’s more than helpful.

And Louis waits for it to end, waits for Harry to stop wanting to help him, waits for the good times to stop and they _don’t_. Things keep getting better and better actually.

_Fuck_ , he thinks, exactly fifty-four days after Harry started helping him out (he’s most definitely not counting), _I love him._

-

It’s Lads Night Out, capital letters and all, when Zayn mentions the obvious.

“Jesus Christ, Louis. You’re in _love_.”

Louis pouts, refusing to give in to the way his stomach flutters at the realization. “I am not. I’m just desperate for the help. And he’s not even half bad, for a doctor.”

Zayn just rolls his eyes, takes another swig of his beer, “Your facial expression literally blinds me every time your phone rings. It’s nauseating. Your poor kids.” 

“My kids love him.”

Niall scoffs, “ _Kid_."  

“You weren’t there.” Louis gets a tad defensive, even though it is true, Jules has taken to Harry better than anyone, but Leo loves him just as well, so…

“We might as well have been, you tell the story six times a day.”

Louis feels extremely attacked. “You guys are ‘orrible. Can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

Niall hits him in the shoulder. “Just admit it. You like him. I mean, c’mon, he’s got _dimples_. _And_ impeccable grammar.”

“Match made in heaven,” Zayn raises his bottle to that.

Ignoring the way his stomach flutters, Louis pulls the cheesiest smile he can manage, like, Christmas card I-don’t-want-to-be-here smile. “Fuck you.”

Zayn just coos at him and pinches his cheek. “You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“Do you guys send each other dick pics from work?”

Louis doesn’t deserve this. He rolls his eyes and walks out of the bar without a word, not letting himself break into a giddy smile until he’s safely sat in the back of a cab. Because yeah, he does love Harry a little (a lot), maybe.

-

Harry answers Louis' messages after his shift presumably ends.

_ Hiii, pal. I’ve just seen your messages from earlier. Have no fear! My knowledge is at your disposal for the next 6 hours. _

Louis grins to himself, probably looking ridiculous all lit up by his phone screen in the dark of his room. 

_amazing !_ , he replies, _now, if a man walked up to you with a gun…_ _and asked you… _

He waits a moment before sending the next one.

_thai or italian ?  _ _what would you choose ?? _

His phone rings with Harry's response almost immediately. 

_Um. Thai, I suppose,_ it says, _And… I know the perfect little place just by the hospital! It’s tucked away but it’s amazing. It's called Thai Dream._

_nice.._ Louis replies vaguely. _dress up fancy and meet me there at 8pm._

Harry sends several messages after that, mostly along the lines of _What??_ ,  _ Did you just ask me out??,  _ _ Is this a date??  _ and  _Hello?? I’m panicking?? _

Louis just laughs at his phone, typing and sending  _suit and tie !!_ before falling straight to sleep.

_-_

Harry doesn’t dress up often, Louis can tell. He can tell by the uncomfortable furrow of the tall man’s eyebrows and the way he keeps tugging at his shirt collar.

Either way, _he showed up_ and Louis hopes that the grin he gives tells Harry just how grateful he is for that. It’s almost stupid, how worried he was to even ask, especially in the way that he did, much less the anxiety he’s been suffering every minute past the hour he’d instructed.

So as Harry approaches, Louis's having an internal battle over whether he should greet him with a hug or a handshake or an awkward hello. There’s a split second of panic when Harry is half a foot away, but then there’s arms around Louis' waist and he’s being pulled up onto his tippy-toes. It’s an amazing hug, probably better than anything he’s ever experienced ever, actually. And it’s not awkward it all, it just feels… right.

“Hey, you,” he says cheerily into Harry’s neck.

“Hi! I—” the doctor pulls back abruptly. “Sorry. Was that weird? I just, I feel like we’re already like. Friends.”

Louis smiles reassuringly. “S’alright, I was going for the same thing. Just wasn’t sure if I should.

The answering grin is enough to tell Louis he’s genuine when he says, “If I hadn’t, I’d’ve definitely hoped you would’ve. I’m a hugger.”

“Duly noted.” Louis steps back to get a proper look at Harry’s choice of attire. “Why, don’t you look _dashing_.” Harry blushes under the compliment and Louis swears he can feel his ego expand that much more.

_-_

Halfway through the meal, Harry asks an odd question.

“Do you think you’d want anymore kids?”

Louis chokes on his mouthful of noodles, falling into a forty second coughing fit.

He’s red-faced and teary-eyed when he gets out a strangled, “What?”

Harry’s face is paler than Louis had ever hoped to see it. “I-I’m sorry I—”

“No, wait. S’alright. Just caught me off guard—Jesus.” He straightens up. “It’s. I don’t know, it’s been so hectic for me I never really thought of it. Also, considering my relationship status for the last three and a half years, I hadn’t really had a reason to, so…” 

“Oh,” Harry’s staring at his half-eaten curry. “It was a weird question. I crossed, like, a line. I’m sorry.”

Louis laughs, making Harry look up in confusion. “You don’t have to apologize for being curious. I’m not— you don’t need to filter yourself, Harry, I like out of the ordinary questions. How’re we supposed to get to know each other if we’re asking standard first date questions. They’re so _boring_.” He shrugs and shovels another forkful of pasta into his mouth.

“That’s, yeah. Thank you.” There’s a pause where Harry just looks at him. “You don’t like rules, do you?”

“Despise them.”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh. “Then how on Earth are you a lawyer?”

There’s no better moment for Louis than when someone asks Louis why he does what he does. People always take it differently, based on their history and personality. It’s fun for him, to see their reactions to the glint in his eyes. 

He makes sure to keep his expression soft. “Because I like it when people get what they deserve.”

Harry’s reaction is priceless, the way his face flushes and his eyes widen.

“Do you know what I think you deserve, Harry?”

“I—” he shakes his head, “No.”

“I think you deserve someone who care for you as much as you seem to care for everyone else. You’re such a good person, did you know that? You deserve so much happiness.”

Harry’s trying not to smile, his dimples threatening to pop. He doesn’t let them, clearly trying to assuage the joy that Louis can feel radiating off of him. The tips of his ears are just barely visible, poking out of his curls that are held back by a dark green headband, and they’re red. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, toying with the spaghetti on his plate. “I try really hard to just, spread kindness. S’why I work with kids. They’re so easily taught. So I like, teach them good things.”

The fondness is maybe about to blow a hole in Louis' chest. Or his head clean off.

“You’re so wonderful.”

Harry scoffs. “Says Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got it all. Amazing friends, great job, sweet kids. You’re smart and funny, got wit to no measure, and you’re so fucking nice.” He sets his fork down. “Sorry for swearing. You’re just— perfect.”

Louis scoffs, “Far from it, love, I’ll tell you that.” His stomach is in knots. Harry hardly knows him, it’s... that's a bit hypocritical. “As much as I’d love for you to think I’m perfect forever, I’m afraid the more time we spend together, the more your image of me will be tainted by my imperfections.” 

Harry’s shaking his head in disbelief. “I think, that if this goes the way I hope, even after a while, I’ll still be able to say the same despite your self-proclaimed flaws.”

Louis hopes that Harry’s right. “We’ll see.”  

-

Harry starts coming over so often that the twins begin to expect it. They start waiting at the door for him with the toys and supplies and things to make him wear. 

It makes Louis' heart swell when he comes home late to find Harry inside a pillow fort with his twins, Niall snoring lightly on the couch. 

There’s one particular night when Louis comes home to a pillow fort already set up in the den, the smell of cookies in the oven. It’s disgustingly cliché and domestic; two words he’s come to realize describe Harry to a tee.

He’s about to call out that he’s home when he hears muffled whispers coming from the immaculately built fort. He shut the door as quietly as possible, toes off his shoes and tip-toes to inspect what the five year old voices are saying.

He hears Julia’s voice first. “I knew the first day we met him this would happen. Daddy always mumbles about dimples in his sleep.”

He _what?_

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing, Jules, he gives us ice cream past bed time. I like him.”

_Good to know._

“Do you think they’re gonna get married?” Louis' heart nearly stops in his chest. _Marriage?_ Him and Harry have barely started dating, and his kids are already proposing _marriage?_ “We’ll have another daddy then.”

Leo argues from a logical standpoint, “We can’t call them _both_ daddy. They’ll get confused.” There’s a silence, followed by a click of fingers. Louis doesn’t remember being able to snap his fingers that well at five years old. “Sally said she calls one of her dad’s Daddy and the other Papa! Harry will be our papa. _If_ they get married.”

“They already act married. Besides, Harry is really nice. Plus the ice cream.”

Louis tries not to think about what he’s just heard as he stalks into the kitchen, scaring Harry, who’s putting the finishing touches of frosting on the cookies, with a pinch to him bum. He tries, he swears he does.

But what really gets to Louis is the fact that he wouldn’t mind being married to Harry. Not at all.

-

It’s Zayn that points it out after five months of a permanent smile on Louis' face.

“Have you had a muscle spasm or something? Do you go to work with your face like that?” They’ve just put the twins to bed, sipping beers on the sofa, Louis waiting for Harry to text back. It’s one of those rare days where he has to work the night shift, those days Louis tries to stay up as late as he can, sending cute encouragements to get him through it. 

“I think I love him, Z. Like, really and truly head over heels. I’m making myself sick just thinking about how cute we are.” He turns to Zayn, eyes wide. “Oh my God, Zayn, we’re fucking adorable."

“That you are,” he agrees in a strained voice, taking another swig.  

“You’re jealous,” Louis sing-songs. “And don’t deny it. Every time we go out for drinks, you and Liam make gross faces at us. You two should get together, honestly.”

Zayn mutters something unintelligible, peeling the wet sticker off his bottle.

“What’s that, mate? You know I don’t like it when you grumble things about me.”

“‘S not about you.” He relents, though, “I said how d’you know we aren’t already?” His face flushes red as Louis tries to not do a spit-take all over his living room. 

“Well?” he shouts, momentarily forgetting he has sleeping children right upstairs. Zayn shushes him. “Oh shut up, they’re my kids. Well?! Are you?” Zayn nods. Louis leaps on him, not believing that he didn’t notice. “This is beautiful. Oh my God. What the _fuck_ , Z. How long?”

“Just a couple of weeks. Didn’t want to say anything ‘til we were both sure.” Louis goes to make a wise-crack about his little boy being responsible, but Zayn claps a hand over his mouth. “And don’t tell Harry. Liam wants to do it. And in all likelihood that frog-face will probably say something as you just did.”

“Well,” Louis has to agree. “We are a pretty convenient couple."

_-_

Louis has one hand in Harry’s hair, the other on his thigh, his thumb rubbing slow circles as he inches his way up. He tastes like the bubbles of champagne that had been exploding on Louis' tongue just a few minutes ago. Their conversation about who’s the better kisser had… escalated just a bit. 

Harry’s the first one to let out a soft moan, and Louis pulls back in victory.

“Ha! Told you.” He flops back onto the bed like a starfish and waits for Harry to join him. 

When he does he says, “I thought it was about mouth related skills, not your-hand-on-my-dick skills.”

“There were no _rules_ ,Harold.” 

“Fair enough.” And he just smiles, looks at Louis with this face splitting grin. “Can’t believe I’ve got you all to myself.”

“Yeah,” Louis leans in closer, whispers right into Harry’s dimple, “I feel bad for you, mate.”

Harry pulls back, frowning. “What, why?”

“Do you honestly enjoy spending time with me? Thought you were using the case to get in my pants.”

Harry doesn’t seem to find it a joke, though. “Can’t believe you’d think that I really— I do love spending time with you. And your friends.” He pauses. “And your kids.”

“I didn’t mean—” Louis grabs both of Harry’s hands in his and looks him dead in the eye. “I believe you. I’m sorry. I-I’m not good at this. This new people thing. I married the girl I’d been with since I was 18, have had the same friends since Uni. You’re the first person I’ve dated in like, eight years.” He laughs bitterly at the absurdity of it.

“That’s— I know that. And that’s fine. Just don’t want you doubting that I love spending time with you. And that—” he’s already flushed red, avoiding looking at Louis. Louis knows what’s coming, and he sort of hoped he’d be the one to say it first. Now, though, in the face of it, he’d much rather surprise Harry with his reaction than wait in anticipation for Harry’s. “I love you, Louis.”

And without missing a beat, Louis breaks into a grin and promptly throws his arms around Harry’s neck. He burrows his nose into where Harry’s curls are softest, just behind his ear.

“I love you too, you nit wit." 

Harry’s stunned enough that his hands stutter before he embraces Louis as well. 

“God,” Harry releases one hell of a sigh, “that’s such a relief. I thought you’d freak out.”

“Been wanting to tell you the same for a bit. Wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

“Would’ve been a little shaken, to be honest. I’m glad you waited.” 

Louis leans back to get a good look at his face. “That’s us,” he proclaims, “Conveniently being convenient and on the same page.”

Harry kisses him soundly, staying there for a drawn out moment. “Alright,” he says, “Back to work, you’ve got a closing statement to prepare.”

-

Louis is most definitelysweating, one thousand percent.

It’s the ninth day of the trial and he’s still nervous as all hell, with reason. This day is extremely important, though, and he’s extremely unprepared. He was up with Harry until two in the morning, writing and rewriting and editing and memorizing questions for the witness. Facts are on his side, what with the witness being an alcoholic and resultantly had been drinking the day of the murders. However, he’s not sure if the line of questioning they’ve prepared are going to do him any good. Plus, he’s got the witness on the stand first. This is going to make or break the whole trial.

“Harry, will you fucking go to work. This isn’t worth your time and you’ve done enough, honestly. More than enough.” He’s undone and redone his tie about thirty times now.

Harry grabs his wrist and he can’t stifle the gasp that escapes him at the sensation. Oops.

“I can smell how nervous you are.”

“Really?”

“No. That’s not a thing. That’s how nervous you are. C’mere.”

He pulls Louis into his arms by his tie and sinks into the bench behind him, effectively forcing Louis into straddling his lap, which, alright.

“Harry. I work here.”

“Yeah, right, I don’t care. You need to relax.” He stops the sarcastic retort on the tip of Louis' tongue with a kiss. Not like a kiss, but a _kiss_ ; a kiss not appropriate for the workplace. Louis would say something, he honestly would, but his mouth is a bit preoccupied. Christ, he wishes he cared who saw.

It’s a bit thrilling, really, because yeah they’re in an empty corridor and the nearest people are ages away, but anyone could stumble down the wrong way and find them. Only April and like, two other people know that he likes to here before trial, and _those_ are the people he has to face everyday. Well, life’s for the living.

He’s just on the cusp of getting carried away when his phone beeps obnoxiously in his pocket.

“Fuck," Louis mumbles onto Harry’s lips.

“Later.”

“Idiot.” He pushes himself onto his feet and does his tie up one last time, feeling considerably lighter. “Thank you.” Louis plants one last peck on Harry. “Sorry m’such a handful. Love you.” He turns to leave.

“Hey,” he’s got a serious look on his face, “If you had any reason to be sorry, I wouldn’t love you like I do.”

-

It’s been four days. Four days since the jury has taken to come up with a verdict. It’s exhausting, all this waiting, and Louis' anxiety gets the best of him. If Harry wasn’t there the whole time with comforting words and touches, Louis might’ve puked or something. (By the third day he was truly ready to.)

“Love, you need to breathe.” Harry’s rubbing his back as he’s hunched over his office chair, hyperventilating. “You’re psyching yourself out, you know exactly how well you did, c’mon.”

“What if,” he takes several shallow breaths, trying to focus on the comforting touch on his back, “It’s been so long,” more breaths, “ _Four_ days. Why’s it taking so long?”

“I don’t know… I don’t— Hey. Stop it, stop!” Louis trying to pinch his thighs through his suit trousers in his frustration. “Why’re you doing that?”

“I fucked up,” he whispers, shoving a hand through his hair, “I fucked it all up. This is it, I’ve just ruined everything. I should’ve never agreed to this, I— _fuck_.” 

He starts to cry, aware that he’s being stupid, a little melodramatic. But he knows there’s not a chance in hell this guy is getting away with anything. Even with all the cards he’s pulled, all the loopholes in the world can’t save him, can’t save his job. The jury isn’t _stupid_ , there’s hard fucking evidence, and he’s so screwed.

“I—Louis. Listen to me!” He holds Louis' wrist in a tight grip. “Look at me.” He says it softer, coaxing their eyes to meet successfully. “Listen carefully. No matter what happens, I’m gonna be here. Zayn and Niall and Liam. We’re all here. So whatever you think the worst case scenario is, we’re not gonna let anything happen to you, or the twins, I swear to God. It’s going to be _fine_.”

Louis keeps looking at Harry, who’s got a look of absolute heartbreak on his face, like he’s doing all he can and knows it isn’t enough. But it is enough, it’s more than enough.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers brokenly. Then he’s being pulled into a kiss, familiar and _home_. 

“Don’t have to apologize,” Harry presses a kiss to Louis' nose this time, “Just breathe. Stop doubting yourself. You’re the best goddamn lawyer in this city and you bloody well know it. This case it going to make you famous and then you’re going to get your own firm like you’ve been talking about.”

Louis can’t raise his voice above a whisper. “You’ve too much faith in me. I don’t deserve it.”

Harry laughs a little sadly. “You deserve the world.” He waits for a moment, for Louis to notice his pause and meet his eyes again. When he does, he says, “I love you.”

“Love you more."

And they spend the next half hour arguing over who loves the other more until there’s a knock on Louis' office door and a man in a red suit calls for “Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis pushes up from his chair and wipes his eyes. “Time to face the music.”

-

The jury rules guilty.

Louis can’t actually believe it. Well, he can, because he knew this case was a bust from the start, but he also sort of can’t. He turns automatically to look at Harry, who’s got wide eyes and a look of utter _pity_ on his face. Louis wants to throw up.

He barely mutters a “sorry” to his client before he’s dashing out of the courtroom. It’s extremely unprofessional, and immature, and stupid really, because justice has been served, but this is his _career_. It’s _over._

Harry’s there to catch him when he comes stumbling through the door, already crying.

“Louis, it’s okay. It’s okay, you did your best.”

Louis doesn’t want to hear it. “It wasn’t fucking good enough.”

He knows Harry takes that to heart, knows that he hates when he shits on himself like this. But this case was _everything_ , and he’s gone and fucked it all up.

But he’ll get over it, he’ll get past it. He has to.

-

He doesn’t get over it.

“Louis.”

“No.”

“Louis, open the door.”

“Go away, Harry."

Harry sighs against the wood of the door. “You can’t stay in there forever.”

There’s a clank and a muffled cursing. “I very well can. M’never showing my face again. Not in the court, not in the street, not anywhere. I fucking _failed_ my one job.”  

He twists the doorknob, finds that Louis never actually locked it. “Lou.” There’s a man-shaped mound of blankets on the bed. “Louis, babe, listen to me. Have you spoken to anyone in the last three days?”

“Why would I have.”

 “Louis, fuck,” he laughs, can’t help it, it seems. “Lou, the judge overruled the verdict.” The instant reaction from Louis makes Harry laugh even harder. “Louis, you _idiot_ , you won the case.”

-

It’s a Wednesday morning when Louis realizes that he’s luckiest person on Earth.

He’s making sandwiches for the twins and four-year-old Emma, his tie half done, his shoes untied and it just hits him. Harry walks into the kitchen, the human embodiment of sleepy, and grabs the peanut butter coated knife from Louis' hand.

“I’ve got it,” he’s fighting a yawn, and Louis cannot fathom why he’s awake after working the night shift.

“Go back to bed, you nutter you just got home two hours ago.”

“It’s fine.” And he just keeps on making the sandwiches, the knife clinking against the gold band on his finger, leaving Louis in an absolutely stunned silence.

“I love you,” he blurts, and Harry turns to look at him, eyebrows raised like he wasn’t expecting it.

“I love you too, what’s—”

“Nothing.” And the fact that he can answer the unasked question just adds to it. “Just hit me. I love you a lot.”

Harry knows he doesn’t have to say anything, because this isn’t the first time Louis's been hit with an overwhelming sense of unworthiness. He simply sets down the knife and bread and puts his arms around Louis, holding him close and burying his nose in the soft hairs just behind his ear.

“Sorry.” He’s tearing up, still after five years not used to the way Harry’s embrace feels like the only place he’ll ever need to be.

“C’mon,” Harry pulls back, starts to do up the red and white tie he bought for him last week to celebrate their finishing _Friends_ for the third time. “You’re gonna be late.”

Louis pushes his hands away and falls back into his arms, “Don’t care. S’my firm. I’ll be late if I want to.”

Standing there in the middle of their kitchen that looks like a tornado ran through it (much like the rest of their house) Louis realizes that he never expected he’d be the one to fall in love so wholly so fast. Maybe with Eleanor it wasn’t really love, just a diversion until his actual soulmate came along to show what love really is; to show him that he’s supposed to wake up with a smile on his face and erupt in butterflies with every glance.

It’s special, what he’s found, he knows that, and he’s so grateful for it.

Having something like this is one in a million, he thinks, as their three kids run in and join the hug. _One in a billion._  

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment to save a life
> 
> here's my [tumblr](http://nightwideopen.tumblr.com) :)


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